


The World Inside of Me

by isyotm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Inside of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Like the Dawn" by The Oh Hello's.

v.

Lightning flashes overhead, freezing moments in time, illuminating the chaos that surrounds him brighter than midday and searing his eyes. As quickly as it appears, it’s gone again and he’s left to stumble forward in the dark, blinding reaching out for the next enemy, the next threat to his country. To his king.

He will not let Arthur fall. Not today. Not ever.

 

 

iv.

_“Then by the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you Arthur, king of Camelot.”_

_“Long live the king!”_

_“Long live the king!”_

_“Long live the king!”_

_“Long live the king!”_

He stands tall, shoulders thrown back, chest out, a wide smile on his face. Pride, love, faith, and devotion fill him up, nearly choking him.

He served Uther faithfully, respected him as his king, but this…

All he has ever wanted is to live and die at Arthur’s side. To protect him. To serve him.

To be Arthur’s knight.

And now he is.

_“Long live the king!”_

_“Long live the king!”_

_“Long live the king!”_

_“Long live the king!”_

He shouts himself hoarse, but it’s the only way he can ever express what he feels.

 

 

vii.

He stops counting how many Saxons he’s killed, how many die on the point of his blade. He’s no longer a man, barely even an animal, as he stalks inexorably forward. The bloodlust has him tight in its grip and will not let go.

He doesn’t care. As long as they win.

As long as Arthur is safe.

Another wave of Saxons rushes at him and he squares his body to meet them, a grim smile on his face.

 

 

ii.

Merlin is an enigma.

He appears out of nowhere and ingratiates himself with everyone immediately. Within a week, all the conversation around him is peppered with mentions of Arthur’s new manservant. And yet, whenever he sees Merlin alone, he doesn’t see what everyone else talks about. He doesn’t see an eager fool or a caring friend. He sees a thinker, a sad soul. He sees someone who is lost.

Except for when Merlin is near Arthur. In those moments, he sees a reflection of himself, but the image is magnified and much sharper.

He would consider it an honor to die for his king. The way Merlin holds himself, it’s like he expects to.

 

 

viii.

Searing pain slashes across his back, causing him to cry out. He whirls around and stabs, sinks his sword deep into the body of the man who struck him, hot blood dribbling out from the wound and onto the ground. It pools on the dust, flashing black and reddish-silver and back again with each streak of lightning that paints the sky. He does his best to keep on but the pain is too great and he fails.

He falls.

He struggles to stand again. The battle rages on, there are still many foes waiting to taste the steel of his blade, _he must protect his king_ , but his legs go numb and refuse to support him. Instead he settles against a rock, intending to rest for a moment before he returns to fighting. Surely no one can begrudge him a small respite.

 

 

iii.

If Arthur is blessed by the sun, then Merlin is a child of the moon. Merlin is darkness, Merlin is shadow, Merlin is mystery, Merlin is ethereal beauty that cannot be matched by mere mortals. Together they are balance, they are push and pull, they are night and day, a self-contained system that needs nothing else to perpetuate into eternity.

He may be a knight of Camelot, but he is still a man. A man who is not worthy of their company and never will be and this knowledge cuts him to the core.

He trains until his muscles scream with the strain, until the target in front of him is merely a pile of straw. When he awakes the next morning, he can barely move his arms, but the pain in every limb is still no match for the one that resides in his heart.

 

 

vi.

His sword feels like a boulder. His armor is a mountain pressing down on his shoulders. All around him he sees waves of Saxons breaking against the solid rocks of his brothers-in-arms, dark leather armor chest-to-chest with shining chainmail.

They are the knights of Camelot, the finest warriors in the known world. Bards sing their praises across the continent, they are hailed as heroes even by the citizens of enemy territories. They are as brave and bold as the bright red capes they wear over their shoulders.

They cannot lose.

He would rather die.

 

 

i.

The sun loves Arthur, loves him like a mother does her child. Whenever he’s outside, the light outlines him in a glowing halo. His blond hair is transformed into gold and his blue eyes become two sapphires that have been traded from distant lands. Even in the heat of a summer’s midday, Arthur is indefatigable and he can only assume it’s because the sun’s rays are much kinder to Arthur than to anyone else. Gentler. Caressing rather than overbearing.

They train alongside each other and though he has no small skill with a sword, Arthur is always better, stronger, faster. He should mind, he should be upset, he should seek revenge or at least a way to recover his dignity, but to lose to Arthur is as great an honor as it would be to beat him.

Arthur is the most beautiful person he’s ever met, fair in every sense of the word. Arthur is generous and noble and just and he would give all he has for even the barest hint of regard.

 

 

ix.

He has heard of angels, but he does not believe in them. He believes in Arthur.

It is Arthur who comes to him, shining bright with an inner fire that he has always been drawn to, powerless to resist. It is Arthur who sees him and runs forward as he reaches out. He wants to touch his king one last time but his arm falls. It’s so heavy, his eyelids are so heavy, everything is so heavy… Maybe if he just rested for a moment…

His eyes slip closed for the last time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [at last (the chronological remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813058) by [peasgopopping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasgopopping/pseuds/peasgopopping)




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